


Mistake at the Embassy

by phoenixquest



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dragonborn - Freeform, Dubious Consent, Dungeon, Dunmer - Freeform, F/M, Interrogation, Sex, Sexual Content, Thalmor, Whipping, embassy party, secret thalmor bondage lair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dunmer Dragonborn, Arylia, goes to the Embassy party to find information about the dragons. After convincing Ondolemar to help her cause a distraction, she slips away...but the mission does not go as planned. When Ondolemar catches her, he's determined to wrench a confession from her - one way or another. (Warning: fluffy at the end.)</p><p>Skyrim and all in-game content is property of Bethesda, not me. I'm just playing in their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistake at the Embassy

“Ondolemar.”

The mer looked up from his drink to see the Dark Elf he’d made friends with over the months sitting next to him, looking tense. He smiled at her.

“Hello, Arylia,” he said pleasantly, keeping his voice low as hers was. “I never expected to see you here.” She looked even more tense.

“Yes, well, I am Thane of several holds,” she said, providing her ready-made excuse for wrangling an invitation. “Surely it can’t be that surprising.”

“I suppose not,” Ondolemar conceded. “In any case, you raise the level of company to quite pleasant.” She shivered involuntarily at the sly grin he gave her. 

Ever since she’d gotten the man’s amulet for him to prosecute the bard in Markarth, he’d been increasingly friendly to her. She truly enjoyed chatting with him every time she visited the city of stone; it seemed he was a little bit lonely, and though she was no Altmer, he honestly seemed to enjoy her company. But his disarming charm…it was almost flirtatious, and it always threw her off-balance.

 _Focus, Arylia_ , she scolded herself. It didn’t matter that he was handsome, or charming, or kind…he was a Thalmor, and she was here on business.

“I…ah…” she stammered, feeling heat in her cheeks. How ridiculous she was being. His smile softened, turning kinder, and he patted her knee gently.

“What is it, my friend?” he asked kindly. “Do you need something?” She blew out a breath, feeling rather relieved at his kindness. Flirtatious as he was, he was also good at making her feel calmer.

“Actually, I do,” Arylia said, keeping her voice quiet. “I…um…well, I was wondering if you could help me.” He cocked his head curiously.

“With what, my dear?”

“I…well…I need you to cause a distraction,” Arylia confessed, her voice quieter than ever. “Keep everyone busy for a few minutes.” Ondolemar frowned at her.

“This is very irregular,” he said disapprovingly. “I trust that whatever you’re doing doesn’t compromise my position in any way?” Arylia stiffened; she hadn’t really considered that. It had nothing to do with him, of course, but what if… No. She came here to do this, and she was going to make it happen.

“No,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere. “It’s nothing to do with you, or the Justiciars.” That was true enough. “I just…need a distraction.” Ondolemar pondered this for a moment.

“Hmm,” he finally said. “Very well. I’m putting my reputation on the line for you.” The trust in his voice made her heart pound; why, oh, why did he affect her like that? Damn him. She hoped she’d be able to get through the Embassy without causing any trouble and making him angry with her.

“Thank you, Ondolemar,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it.” He gave her a friendly smile, and guilt burned hot in her stomach, but there was nothing for it.

A few minutes later, Ondolemar had successfully gotten everyone’s attention, picking on the poor drunk man Arylia had met outside. First mission therefore accomplished, she slipped out of the room with Malborn, the wood elf that was her ally in this place, and her plan was underway.

*****

 _Dammit_ , Arylia’s brain screamed. She’d successfully made her way out into the courtyard without being spotted once, well on her way to the Ambassador’s office, if Malborn’s map was to be believed. In the courtyard, though…it was snowing so hard she hadn’t seen the rock, and the clanging sound it made as she accidentally kicked it hard enough to send flying across the stone pathway had alerted three Thalmor soldiers and one mage.

She’d managed to take out all but one of the soldiers, but the man didn’t seem to have any intention of tiring anytime soon. She was quite out of energy, being hit with several spells so far and bleeding quite profusely from the sword of one of his fellows, and she’d been stupid enough to not think of bringing any healing potions with her.

She hid behind the low wall, hearing the soldier’s footsteps coming closer, and managed to catch him by surprise for the most part; she stabbed her dagger through his chest, but he’d brought his own sword up just in time to slice her shoulder hard before he fell.

This was it, she thought blankly as she sank to the ground, rapidly losing consciousness. This was the end. She wasn’t going to leave alive. The last thing she recalled before blackness claimed her was a strangely familiar, horrified voice calling out her name.

*****

Ondolemar could barely believe what he saw. After discerning that the Dark Elf was no longer in the party, he’d slipped off himself to go after her. Just what did she think she was doing?

Eventually, he’d wandered into the courtyard, shocked by the body at his feet, one of his soldiers. Then he heard a cry of pain; his eyes snapping up, he saw the Dark Elf girl leap out from behind a wall, stabbing into another soldier that had been pursuing her. The soldier fell, but not before getting a hit on the girl, and she quickly fell, too.

“Arylia!” he cried, confusion, worry, and anger warring within him. Had she killed all these soldiers? What was she even doing out here? And most importantly…was she even still alive?

By the time he reached her, she was quite still. He could feel a heartbeat, and she was certainly breathing, but not in good shape. She was covered with blood, and her dark skin was surprisingly pale. He froze for a moment, unsure what to do.

He liked her; he liked her a lot. She’d been so helpful to him, and then every time he’d met her after that, she’d been so very pleasant. Perhaps the only one to treat him with anything more than disdain since entering Skyrim.

He’d learned that she was quite an adventurer, and always had unbelievable stories to tell. He suspected there was something more to her, something deeper, but he never pried. He enjoyed their conversations when they had them, and was content to let it end there, though he couldn’t stop himself starting to care about her. He started looking forward to her visits, becoming unhappy when there was too much time between them. Every time she would leave, he’d ask where she was going.

“Everywhere” was her cheeky answer. And whenever she’d return to him it certainly sounded as though she’d meant it; she truly did travel everywhere, it seemed.

He hadn’t really approved of how his heart leapt upon seeing her at the party this evening. It was to be expected, he supposed; as pleasant company as she always was, it was sure to make the dull drudgery of the endless party more appealing. Even so, she _was_ a Dark Elf.

Then she’d asked for his help, and he’d decided to give it. Now just to find out she’d wanted it so she could cut a swathe through the Embassy and kill his soldiers? He was irrationally hurt; had she truly just used him like that?

Annoyed as it made him, he realized he was unwilling to let her die…and if she was so intent on invading the Embassy, he most definitely wanted answers from her. An idea came to him, and after quickly healing the worst of her visible wounds, he picked her up into his arms, carrying her off.

*****

Arylia awoke feeling quite stiff and very confused. She was in a bed, though it was definitely not any of her own beds, and the last thing she had remembered was being hit with a sword. She’d been sure she would die…so where was she?

She groaned and sat up, looking around; nothing was familiar to her. She thought she might be underground from the lack of windows, but all she could see was a small room, lit only by a single candle on her bedside, and a dresser at the foot of her bed.

She realized that though she was a little sore, she didn’t hurt anymore. Reaching for the places she knew she’d been wounded, she discovered them fully healed. This baffled her.

For where she’d fallen, the only people who could have possibly found her would have been the Thalmor. In which case…she was decidedly in Thalmor custody. But…healed? In a bed? Alone?

The door opened then and a tall figure walked in. She jerked in fright, her breath quickening.

“You’re awake,” the figure said, shutting the door behind him. She recognized Ondolemar’s voice and relaxed, though only slightly.

“Did you heal me?” Arylia asked at once.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. His tone was impossible to read, and between the low light and his hood, she could not see his face to read it, either. “As well as I could. Is there anywhere else…?”

“No,” Arylia said quickly. It was only then she realized she no longer wore her Elven armor, but a rough tunic.

Prisoner’s garb.

“So is that why you wished my help?” Ondolemar asked, and his tone was clearly cold now. “You wanted to go on a rampage through our Embassy and kill the Thalmor?”

“No,” Arylia said. “I…didn’t want to kill anyone.”

“And yet you did,” Ondolemar snapped. Was she losing her mind, or was there hurt there? “You asked my assistance, and I trusted you enough to give it. Then you cut your way through our Embassy. Where were you headed, Elf? Going to kill more of us? Steal from us? What was it?”

“I – “ Arylia gulped. Her throat was quite dry. “Do you have any water?”

“No,” Ondolemar said fiercely. “You can have a drink when you answer my questions.”

“I can’t,” Arylia confessed. She couldn’t tell him. Yes, she was caught, but…there was Delphine to think about. And Malborn, too.

“Well, then,” Ondolemar sneered. “We’ll just see what it takes until you can.”

Arylia felt quite frightened now; his tone was colder than she’d ever heard him use with her, and he was clearly very unhappy with her. Not that she blamed him, really.

“I – Ondolemar, I – I’m sorry,” Arylia said quietly.

“No, you aren’t,” Ondolemar snorted, striding over to her now. “Perhaps you’re sorry I caught you. Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be.” He grabbed her by the arm, yanking her to her feet.

“Wh-what…?” Arylia asked shakily.

“If you won’t tell me what I wish to know, then we will do this the hard way,” Ondolemar said icily, pulling her through the door. She was in a dimly lit hall with doors on either side, and Ondolemar led her down it, down a set of stairs, and into what looked very much like a dungeon. Arylia started trembling. Surely…surely, Ondolemar wouldn’t do this to her. Not…not torture.

“Ondolemar, please,” Arylia started.

“Save it,” Ondolemar snapped, his grip on her arm bruising. He marched her over to a tall post off to the side of the room, producing a set of iron cuffs from his robes. She pulled, trying to get away, but he yanked her closer to him. “Be still, Elf, or I swear I will make this worse.” Arylia didn’t say anything; she was far too thrown off to even think at the moment.

Before she knew it, he’d cuffed her wrists, looping the chain that kept them together through a hook on the tall pole.

“Please stop,” she begged him, her voice trembling as much as her body. “Please. I didn’t mean…I…”

“Silence!” Ondolemar commanded angrily. “You will speak to answer my questions, and no more. Do I make myself clear?”

“Let me go,” Arylia begged, unable to stop herself. She felt quite vulnerable and very scared, standing there bound to the post. She couldn’t get free if her life depended on it – and she realized it very well might. She mentally ran through the list of Shouts she knew; Unrelenting Force would only make him angrier, and Whirlwind Sprint was likely to rip her wrists from her arms. He was not an animal she could win allegiance from, and disarming him would only work as long as she could keep shouting – which she knew wasn’t that long. She could breathe fire at him, she supposed, but it wasn’t likely to kill him; and she had no idea what this place she was in was made of. If she set it on fire and killed him, she’d most likely burn to death as well, being unable to escape.

“You have murdered four Thalmor soldiers, Elf,” Ondolemar snapped. “You have infiltrated the private area of our Embassy, and you lied to me.” She was positive he sounded the angriest about the last one. “You used me. You will pay.” He smirked when she shuddered. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, tapping the pole she was bound to. She shook her head furiously. “A whipping post.”

“No!” Arylia said, struggling against the cuffs. All she managed to do was hurt her wrists. Ondolemar sneered.

“Five lashes for each soldier killed,” he pronounced. “And then I’ll deal with the personal transgression.”

“No, please, no,” Arylia begged, tears running down her cheeks in fear now. She’d never been whipped before, and she wasn’t interested in trying it out.

“Then perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’ve done all this?” Ondolemar prompted, his hand running over the handle of a long, thin whip.

“I – I can’t!” Arlyia cried tearfully. “I can’t! Ondolemar – I – I’m sorry!” He gave an unimpressed snort before simply walking away from her.

Ondolemar was furious inside. All this that she’d done…the way she’d used him…and now, refusing to even tell him why, forcing him to do this to her. Part of him wanted to take pity on her, release her, and simply tell her all was forgiven. He rather hated that soft part of himself; it annoyed him that she made him feel that way. She might as well pay for that, too.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew that doing this in anger would only bring her to harm; that wasn’t what he had in mind. He fully intended to extract the truth from her, but beating her mercilessly in fury would be much more likely to kill her than get her to talk. Nonetheless, he was a professional; he’d done this countless times before, and he could do it now, the fire she ignited in him be damned.

His first stroke of the whip was almost casual. He took a certain vicious pleasure in luring his victims into a false sense of security. She jerked as the whip struck her shoulders, but it was nowhere near powerful enough to cause real pain.

Not yet.

He continued lashing her with the whip, each strike progressively harder. To his pleasure, strike number eight finally caused her to cry out.

“Did that hurt?” Ondolemar asked silkily, pausing for a moment.

“Yes,” she choked out through her tears. There was a hint of something else, though; something besides the pain. It was odd, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was there.

“Good,” he asked, his voice staying smooth. “It is supposed to.” Strike number nine left her quiet again, but ten made her dance out of the way. Eleven came swiftly, Ondolemar moving quickly to reach her as she tried to get away from the sting, and twelve and thirteen came in rapid, hard strikes. She cried out after each of them, almost breathless as she choked back her tears.

It finally occurred to him, what he was sensing behind her breathy gasps. Part of him was excited; he hadn’t had one like this in a very long time. Another part of him, however, just became angrier. How dare she enjoy this, after what she did.

“Are you _enjoying_ this?” he asked her, striking her again.

“N-no,” she protested feebly. It was one of the least convincing lies he’d ever heard.

“Don’t lie to me,” Ondolemar snapped, strike fifteen making her screech as well. He wondered idly what the pattern of lash marks would look like under that tunic.

“P-p-please,” Arylia begged, struggling again.

“Silence!” he demanded. “I told you you are to answer my questions, nothing more!” Sixteen was the hardest yet, and she tried to move the other way. Seventeen followed her. “I told you twenty, and that’s what you’ll get.” He heard her clearly sobbing now. Part of him wished he hadn’t bothered to dress her in the tunic after healing her.

Part of him wished he hadn’t bothered healing her, angry as he was. He felt utterly betrayed.

Three more strikes followed quickly, and after the final one, she sagged against the pole restraining her, crying loudly. Because she wasn’t expecting it, he hit her again – right across her backside.

“That one was for speaking out of turn,” he informed her coldly.

The little, soft part of him inside quite wanted to release her, to hold her and ask if she was alright. He told it to shut up; he knew intimately the limits of the body. He was very good at what he did, and his line of work demanded a fine knowledge of how much one could take. She was fine, whether she thought so or not.

“Are you ready to answer me?” Ondolemar finally asked, coming to stand next to her. She was still sagging against the cuffs restraining her, and he felt a flash of concern for her wrists. He pushed it down.

“I can’t,” she sobbed miserably. “I can’t…”

“Then I shall begin the interrogation,” he said smoothly. He unhooked the cuffs from the post, letting her lower her arms though he kept hold of the chain between the cuffs. He paused for a moment, looking down at her.

Her head was lowered meekly, but he could still see the tear tracks across her cheeks, smearing her war paint. He’d always admired the red streaks she painted on her face; they were artfully done, and part of him felt a slight sadness at ruining them.

Another part of him, however, felt a rather perverse pleasure in it.

The Elf was shaking, clearly terrified and upset. Good, he thought angrily. She deserved to be. He knew he wasn’t going to truly harm her; despite what she’d done, his fondness for her wouldn’t allow it. At least not yet. And in any case, she didn’t need to know that just now - she ought to worry.

He led her over to the cross; a wooden set of beams, crossed in an X, to which the victim was attached wrist and ankle, allowing no movement for them and easy access to those areas that proved most sensitive. She kept her head pointed at the floor as he locked her wrists in after removing the cuffs, then her ankles. He kept himself from looking at her face as he got back to his feet; he knew if he looked at her now, he’d be quite likely to give in to his urge to hold her, to comfort her.

But she deserved this. She tricked him, she infiltrated the Embassy – she killed his colleagues, for Auri-El’s sake! And she used him. For all he knew, had been using him the entire time she’d known him.

“Stay still,” he ordered her then, producing his fine Elven dagger. She looked up in horror as she saw him withdraw it. “Still,” he ordered again, and swiftly moved to cut the tunic off her. She didn’t even breathe as the dagger came close to her skin. In short order, she was completely bare to him, naked as the day she was born and trembling from head to toe. She had stopped crying, at least, though her face was still covered with tears.

He couldn’t help taking a moment to admire her; quite scarred, though that wasn’t so surprising, for all the stories she’d told him of her adventures. He became angry again at the thought of her so pleasantly sharing conversation with him, just to get into his good graces.

“Why did you infiltrate our Embassy?” he began, standing in front of her and simply staring at her coldly.

“I can’t tell you,” she said thickly. “I can’t.”

“Fine,” Ondolemar said angrily. “We will see.” He stepped toward her then, his fingers outstretched, and he pressed them to her shoulder. She looked surprised at the seemingly gentle touch. A moment later she shrieked, jerking on her bonds, unable to get away from Ondolemar’s sparking fingers.

He couldn’t help smirking. He knew what it felt like; the pain, sharp and stark, as it set every nerve in the body alive.

“Why did you kill my guards?” he continued without respite.

“Because they tried to kill me,” Arylia gasped, breathing hard, her red eyes wide. “Self-defense.”

“Of course they tried to kill you,” Ondolemar said icily. “They are guards. Their job is to keep out those who should not be there.”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill me,” Arylia said defiantly, seeming to regain some of her spark. “Maybe you should get better guards.” Ondolemar couldn’t help smirking slightly; it was a fair enough assessment, considering the four guards together had perished by the blade of a lone Dark Elf.

“Or you could have simply not gone wandering about the Embassy,” Ondolemar snapped, his smirk disappearing as soon as he realized it was there. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I was the one to find you there? Had it been any of my other colleagues, you would have been killed on the spot.”

“I was already on the verge of death,” Arylia muttered. “And what does it matter now? You’re simply going to torture me before you kill me.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I am to do!” Ondolemar said, slapping her face. She glared hatefully at him. Truthfully he rather liked that she had regained her spirit, at least for the moment; it made it all the more fun for him. “You deserved to be punished, Elf, and you know it. And now, I want my answers. So yes – I will do whatever it takes to get them.” He breathed out through his nose, trying to make himself calm down. It still wouldn’t do to get angry.

He hadn’t gotten angry like this at a victim in a long time, he knew. He was generally very good about keeping his head during an interrogation. This Dunmer, however…she provoked him worse than anything. He knew it was because, damn it all, he cared about her. By all rights, he should have left her to die there in the snowy courtyard; she should not be alive at the moment.

But he couldn’t kill her. And the thought of letting her die…it put a hole in his chest. So here she was, naked and spread before him. She would give him answers, that much he was sure of. 

He would just have to learn how to break her. And that, at least, he could enjoy. Betrayal of him or not, she was a fine specimen of an elf, even if she was one of the dark-skinned. Coming to know her as he did, he’d thought of her often in such ways. If he was going to break her anyway…he may as well take her.

“Then do it already,” Arylia finally spoke, her voice harsh. “Do it and be done.” Snarling, he reached his fingers out again, pressing them to her stomach; the flash of sparks made her screech again, wriggling against her binds, but there was a little bit of desire in the sound as well. Gods, she really was enjoying this.

Well, he’d certainly used similar tactics to gain confessions before. He knew her type; he would play it her way.

“You like how that feels, don’t you, Arylia?” Ondolemar murmured cruelly, tracing his fingers along her stomach now. She wiggled, trying to get away from his touch, but there was nowhere for her to go. “You like the pain.”

“No,” she breathed, clearly trying to sound defiant. He snorted his amusement at her defiance, letting his hand sink lower to trace his finger over her folds. He felt himself twitch under his robes; she hadn’t only enjoyed it a little, she was positively _soaked_.

“You lie to me,” he growled, pressing his finger into her slightly and wetting it thoroughly. He heard the whimper of desire she tried to hold in. “Tell me, Elf. Is this evidence of your lack of enjoyment?” He brought the soaked finger up to her lips, shoving it into her mouth before she could protest. She glared at him, but he didn’t care. “I didn’t think so.” 

He somehow realized what she was about to do a second before she did it, giving him just enough time to yank his finger from her mouth before her teeth chomped closed. He snarled at her and grabbed her hips harshly, sending a firm shock through her. She yelled loudly and then slumped against the cross a moment later, breathing hard once more.

“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped. “Now. Tell me. Who are you working with?”

“No one,” she said, her voice angry but still breathless. Ondolemar rolled his eyes.

“I am not stupid, little elf,” he said. “I know you did not come in here on your own.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. This amused him, rather than enraging him. This time he brought a hand to the stiff peak of her dark breast, pinching hard before sending another sharp shock through her.

Her gasp was much more of pleasure than of pain this time, and he could tell it was working perfectly. Every shock he sent into her body set her nerves on fire, making her all the more sensitive to his touch. Eventually, she would be positively desperate for it.

And oh, he would grant it. As soon as she told him what he asked.

“Why were you here tonight?” he pressed on.

“I like parties,” Arylia breathed. Ondolemar had to chuckle at that lie, even as he sent a shock through her other breast. She almost moaned into it this time.

“Why did you leave the party?” Ondolemar went on.

“It was boring,” Arylia spat. He wanted to laugh outright. How amusing she truly was.

“Why did you trick me?” he asked, a harder edge to his voice.

“I didn’t trick you,” Arylia said angrily. “I didn’t say anything that was a lie.”

“Fine!” Ondolemar snapped. “Then why did you use me, Elf? Why did you use our _friendship_ against me that way?” It hurt to ask, because it hurt to contemplate. He did not expect, however, for her face to soften and for her to go limp in her bindings again. Her eyes gazed intently at the floor.

“I had no choice,” she murmured softly. “You were the only one I trusted.” This threw him.

“Trusted?” he asked blankly, a spark spell ready on his fingertips but suddenly forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I had to get away somehow,” Arylia said, emotion choking her again. “And you were the only one I could trust.” He stood there, dumbstruck, for a moment. It was the last thing he expected to hear.

She had trusted him? This had all been because she had trusted him?

Well, that made no sense at all! It made his fury return.

“If you trusted me, then why jeopardize my job?” he snapped.

“I told you, I had no choice!” she snapped back. She looked like she wanted to strangle him. More to reassert himself than anything else, he sent another sharp shock through her, right at her navel. She jumped, but didn’t make a sound that time.

“Then why did you ‘have to’ get away?” he demanded. “What was so important you had to get away that badly? You had to murder those soldiers?”

“I can’t tell you!”

“Who are you protecting?” Ondolemar pressed relentlessly. “Who are you working with?”

“I’m not telling you anything!” Arylia finally screeched, struggling hard against her bindings.

He took a deep breath, trying once more to calm himself as he watched her struggle. He knew there was no way she would get free. He counted to ten, an old trick he’d learned long ago to help control himself when he was enraged. By the time he was finished, she was breathing hard, hanging limply in her bindings. He stepped closer to her, closer than he had yet been.

He had an odd, overwhelming desire to kiss her. He shoved it aside.

“Fine,” he said smoothly, calmly. He brought his hand up between them, touching her slit gently for the slightest second before he suddenly thrust two long, pale fingers inside of her. She gasped, nearly choking on her own air, as her eyes closed in bliss.

Auri-El, she was a responsive thing, he thought. This would at least be enjoyable.

He thrust his fingers into her over and over again until she was positively panting with her desire, all but bucking up to meet him. He smirked at the control he now held over her before pulling his fingers out all at once, bringing them both to the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs.

“Ondolemar!” she cried out blissfully. He hardened instantly; he hadn’t expected that. Gods, how often he’d thought of her. Hearing her screaming his name like this, even if he knew full well he was using this as a means of interrogation…

She gyrated against his fingers a few moments more before he brutally pulled them away. The keening whine of loss she let out went straight to his member.

“Tell me why you were here tonight,” he said calmly, resting his hand against her sex, not touching her where she wanted.

“No,” she gasped out. “Please…please….”

“I’ll keep going if you give me an answer,” Ondolemar said silkily. She groaned and it nearly turned into a growl. When she opened her eyes, he saw they looked decidedly fierce; more so than he’d ever seen from her. She looked nearly feral.

“Fuck you,” she spat again. He merely arched an eyebrow at her.

“Not without an answer,” he said simply. She snarled at him, and he pressed his hand to her, giving only the slightest suggestion of touching where she wanted. She whimpered.

“Never,” she said breathily.

“I can do this all night,” he said. “As long as it takes.” She shuddered; she actually liked the idea? By the gods, what kind of masochistic creature had he stumbled onto?

“I cannot tell you,” she breathed. “I cannot. I can tell you that I did not want to kill anyone.” She let out a breath, still half-delirious with her desire but clearly regaining her hold on reality. “And I didn’t intend to hurt you,” she added, her voice very soft.

Damn her, he thought angrily. Damn her for trying to manipulate him!

“It’s not going to work,” he said aloud, his voice a snarl. “Keep your mouth shut unless you intend to answer me, is that understood?”

“But – “ she tried desperately. He clapped his free hand over her mouth. Too many pleas and he might give in. He couldn’t afford to do that; he would not let himself be taken in by her. Not anymore.

Without another word, he started his fingers moving against her again, removing his hand from her mouth. She sighed with pleasure at his touch. Oh, how he liked that.

“You can change your mind any time,” he informed her quietly. “Tell me everything, and I will continue. Continue to refuse, and you will not be _released_.” She seemed to take the double meaning of his words as she groaned loudly, thrusting against his touch.

He would be patient. In the end, she would tell him. For now…patience.

It was with that in mind that Ondolemar continued to rub her, his expert fingers touching her just how she needed; he was no novice when it came to pleasing a woman, and though he hadn’t had much chance to practice recently, he was still quite good at it.

As soon as he could feel her approaching release, he stopped abruptly again.

“No,” she moaned pitifully, struggling as he pulled away.

“Tell me why you were at the embassy,” Ondolemar reminded her.

“No,” she whimpered. “No…please…I can’t, Ondolemar, I can’t tell you!” She was very desperate. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Tell me!” he insisted, thrusting two fingers into her and pulling them back out just as quickly. “Tell me what I wish to know!” Gods, but he would give anything to be thrusting himself inside her at the moment instead of just his fingers.

“Please!” she screamed. “Please, Ondolemar, I beg of you!” He yanked his fingers away.

“Answer me,” he commanded roughly.

“No,” she moaned. He moved his hand to spark her hip again and she twitched, arching toward his hand.

“Answer me,” he demanded again. She didn’t reply this time, simply stood there, shuddering. He smirked. “I can be patient. I will be patient all night.”

“Please,” she begged hopelessly.

“All you must do is tell me why you were here,” Ondolemar said quietly. “Why you led me on to believe we were friends, and why you killed the soldiers.”

“I can’t tell you,” Arylia said, tears in her eyes now. “I can’t. And I didn’t…I was your friend.”

He wanted to believe her. He wanted so much to believe her. To believe his feelings hadn’t been one-sided. And yet…he knew people who had told far worse lies to get out of something much less than torture. Her actions spoke where her words didn’t. He hated that it hurt him, hated that he wanted so badly for her to care for him.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said roughly, repeating his earlier command. “I want the truth, Elf. I want to know why you are here. On whose orders are you trying to take down the Thalmor?” The girl looked genuinely shocked at this.

“What?” she finally asked after a moment of baffled silence.

“Are you deaf as well as dim?” he said impatiently. “I want to know who ordered you here for this!”

“But…” she trailed off, looking confused. “That wasn’t…why.” He rolled his eyes; she was obviously lying, but clearly she’d gotten much better at it in the last few minutes, because she did seem to mean it.

“Then tell me,” he said, forcing himself to be calm again.

“I can’t,” she murmured dejectedly. He decided enough time had gone by for her to recede from the edge once more, so he brought his hand to her folds again, stroking her hard all at once. She cried out. “No! Stop…it’s too much!”

“I don’t give a damn,” he said harshly. He didn’t like being lied to, and frankly his control over her this way was giving him more of a rush than it ever did with anyone else.

“Please…Ondolemar….ohhh,” she groaned, apparently switching from ‘too much’ to feeling good once more. He smirked; how easy she was to manipulate.

“Answer me, and I’ll give you your wretched release, little though you deserve it,” he prompted. She didn’t say anything, simply continuing to moan. Once more he brought her right to the edge.

He was surprised at the flush in her cheeks; he hadn’t expected to be able to see such a thing with her dark skin, but he could still see the slight darkening of her cheeks anyway. A light sheen of sweat coated her body, and with her smudged warpaint, she looked thoroughly ravished already.

Her slick heat on his fingers was not doing anything good for his self-control; it wouldn’t be long, he thought, before he gave up the entire thing and simply pushed into her, unable to keep himself from it. Gods, but he’d wanted her for some time now; now his anger and his hurt fueled him like never before, and he wanted nothing more than to pound into her until she was screaming out his name.

“Oh, gods, Ondolemar, please, don’t stop,” she begged, panting.

“Then tell me,” he breathed into her ear. _Because I don’t want to stop_ , he added silently. _I want to feel you come undone by my fingers, you wanton little wench._

“I – I can’t – “ she shuddered, and he pulled away. “No! Please! Gods!”

“Answer me,” Ondolemar said simply, keeping his fingers hovering annoyingly close to her bud.

“Please,” she choked, looking up at him desperately. “I need…please.”

“Answer me,” he repeated, patient as ever. He was glad she couldn’t read the thoughts in his head. She growled in frustration, and he slipped his finger into her long enough to make her scream softly before pulling it back out.

“No, please,” she begged. “Ondolemar, gods, please, I want…I need…”

“What?” he asked, curious as to what her actual answer would be. “What is it you want and need, exactly?”

“ _You_!” she burst out furiously, a mad desperation in her voice. “You! Please, gods, I need _you_!”

That answer he had not expected. That she wanted him…not her release, but _him_ , specifically…

“Tell me!” he demanded, fighting hard to not undo his robes and take her right there.

“Take me!” she replied heatedly, desire flooding each word. He growled in frustration; how much could one lonely elf be expected to take, after all? Fine, then. He would take her, and he would fuck her until she couldn’t move, and still not give her release. See how she liked that!

“Fine!” he snapped, and in an instant, his robes were undone, his trousers pushed down just far enough to free himself. She gasped in what he could only assume was pleasure as she looked down and saw him. Without preamble, he thrust himself into her.

What a sight they must have made, he thought; he, barely undressed, against her, naked as anything, spread-eagled and bound as he pressed into her heat.

Heat it was, too; he’d never felt anything so warm like that.

“Ondolemar,” she sobbed, and he was close enough she rested her head on his shoulder. “Ondolemar…yes…please…” She seemed oddly relieved that he had taken her; he still had no intention of giving her release, so he wasn’t entirely sure why she would find this so pleasing.

“You’re still not getting anything until you give me an answer,” he growled in her ear, holding her hips firmly as he thrust into her without mercy. She didn’t reply, half-crying, half choking out moans of pleasure into his shoulder. He wondered at this odd behavior.

“I’m sorry,” she was murmuring in between choked breaths. “I’m so sorry…” He didn’t understand what she was talking about. Was she simply apologizing for not telling him? If so, why wouldn’t she just answer him?

“If you’re sorry, then tell me,” he said harshly, thrusting harder still. She screamed softly as he hit a sensitive spot. She seemed to be senseless at this point, though, because all he could get out of her was incoherent mumbling.

Fine. He would find his own release and then he would figure it out.

It wasn’t going to take him long; it had been far too many weeks since he’d had a woman this way, and after watching her and wondering for so long, and her horrible, delicious _heat_ – it was impossible to control himself, and he didn’t care.

He felt his release building, spurred on by her choking little gasps so close to his ear. Finally, he could hold back no longer.

“Gods!” he groaned, thrusting hard and holding her hips on him. “Arylia!” He couldn’t stop her name tumbling from his lips, just as it had so many times when he was alone. He felt her shudder as she continued her cries, and then she was squeezing around him, and it felt like everything he’d ever wanted and never even knew, it felt like the most exquisite thing in the world.

“Ondolemar,” she choked brokenly. Once the haze cleared from his mind a moment later, he realized she’d had her release after all.

“Damn you,” he breathed accusingly. Of all people. Only she would have been able to get off on such a thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears spilling from her eyes. She was still leaning her head on him, straining as hard as she could to be close to him. “I’m sorry.”

And only she would bother apologizing for deviously achieving her denied release!

“Stop apologizing,” he said angrily, pulling away from her. Her head fell to her chest as she sagged limply in the restraints. “You will still answer my questions, make no mistake.”

“Dragons,” she mumbled pitifully, and he saw a tear fall to the floor. “The dragons.” He paused, confused, as he was doing up his trousers.

“What?” he finally asked.

“That’s…why I was here,” Arylia choked out miserably. “Dragons.”

Was she trying to confuse him? Misdirect him? Threaten him, somehow?

“What are you on about?” he finally asked, thoroughly annoyed. Twice now she’d used him.

“Ondolemar,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt anybody. I’m so sorry.”

“And what do dragons have to do with it?” he growled. After all that…gods, he wanted nothing more than to release her, to hug her to him. The misery in her voice only made it worse. 

“I…I’m…I’m the Dragonborn,” Arylia managed chokingly. Ondolemar snorted in disgust.

“Surely, you could think of a better lie than that,” he said sarcastically. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s the truth,” she sniffled, trying to regain control of herself. She took a deep breath and managed to lift her head. “Take…take out your dagger. I’ll show you.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’re trying to trick me,” Ondolemar said. “It won’t work.”

“I’m not,” Arylia said, and he’d never heard more sincerity in a person’s tone before. “In any case, if you’re the one holding the knife, shouldn’t _I_ be afraid?” He considered this, realizing she was right. Even if she _was_ the Dragonborn…if she’d intended to hurt him with her Voice, she’d have done it long before now.

Still eyeing her suspiciously, he pulled his dagger out again, holding it in a battle stance. Looking directly at him, she opened her mouth.

“ _Zun_!”

The word was loud enough to rattle his bones, though it had looked like she barely whispered it. Her chest was heaving as though she’d just had a screaming match, however. And then he realized he was no longer holding his dagger. He stared at the hand that had been holding it, bewildered.

“It’s over there,” Arylia said in a hoarse voice, nodding off to his right. He looked and saw she was right, then turned back to her, mouth agape. “Zun. Dragon word for ‘weapon’. The Shout disarms.” He stared at her in silence; he had no idea what to say.

She was obviously telling the truth; that was for sure the Thu’um he’d just felt, and she’d known exactly what it did. She’d also chosen very directly not to harm him, it seemed.

“Please,” she begged tearfully. “Let me down. And get me some water.” He didn’t know what else to do; she had just confessed, at least somewhat. He’d certainly never had anyone confess like that _afterward_ , however.

“Alright,” he said softly, stepping back toward her. He undid the ankle restraints first, standing to remove the wrist restraints too. He saw her wrists were deep red and starting to bruise from her struggling. Pity stabbed through him once more, and again he pushed it away. He still didn’t understand what she had thought she was doing, and he was not about to simply let her off the hook so easily.

As soon as her wrists were released, she threw her arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. He froze, utterly shocked at this behavior, but still she clung to him, almost desperately. He finally gave up fighting with himself and brought his arms up around her, holding her gently to him. His heart skipped a beat.

“Arylia,” he finally murmured. “Explain yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, nuzzling his shoulder. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach at the gesture. “Gods.” She tried to clear her throat, and he remembered she wanted water.

Well, she seemed willing enough to talk, he reasoned, and he wasn’t likely to get anything more from her out here tonight. Without a word, he led her back down the hallway to the room he’d put her in before; one of the nicer ones, he knew. He’d chosen it for that reason. He settled her down onto the bed, handing her a new tunic out of the dresser.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice very soft. He found it hard to be enraged at her anymore. Perhaps it was simply the shock of finding out she was the Dragonborn.

She hadn’t responded, still sniffling, but he left anyway, shutting the door. He contemplated locking it again.

Something, however, bade him to trust her. And so he did.

Walking up another flight of stairs, he went into the office reserved for the dungeon. He poured her a tankard full of water, and after a moment’s thought, grabbed a clean linen handkerchief as well.

When he returned, she hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed, though she’d put the tunic on, and she looked more nervous than upset now.

“Here,” he said, handing her the water.

“It’s…it’s not poison?” she asked croakily. He gave her a baffled look.

“Of course it isn’t poison,” he said. “You wished for water. It’s water.” She lifted it to her lips and drank, slightly fearful, but when she realized it was simply water, she drained the tankard enthusiastically, barely pausing for a breath. “Why would I poison you?”

“Dragonborn,” Arylia said, her voice rough, not looking at him. “The Thalmor want me dead.”

“Pardon me?” Ondolemar asked, bewildered. “Why would we want you dead?” She paused, seeming to contemplate that for a moment.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted. “I was just told…”

“By whom?” Ondolemar asked at once, sitting down on the bed next to her. “Who told you that?” She looked up at him, her eyes frightened again.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said quietly. “I…I’m sorry. But I can’t.”

He didn’t want her to be frightened of him. Not anymore. He’d done enough to frighten her. So he rested a hand on her knee instead.

“Then what can you tell me?” he asked gently, handing her the handkerchief he’d brought down. She looked surprised, but took it anyway, wiping at her face. She took a deep breath, as though preparing herself.

“I came to the party tonight with the intention of looking through the Embassy,” she confessed. “I needed information on the dragons, and I was informed that the Thalmor had it. I need to know why they’re coming back, and I was told you all were behind it. Considering I’m the only one that can stop them…” she paused. “Well, I suppose that’s why you’d want me dead.”

“Someone thinks we are behind the dragon attacks?” Ondolemar asked in confusion. Arylia nodded. “But…we don’t know anything at all about them. Frankly, after you said you were Dragonborn, I presumed you did.” Arylia let out a humorless laugh.

“I didn’t even know I was Dragonborn until three months ago,” she said. “If I knew anything about them, I wouldn’t have nearly been killed by a half-dozen since.” She sighed. “Anyway. The dragons are destroying everything, and if the Thalmor were behind it…I had to know how to stop you. It’s…it’s my duty.”

“And so you got into the party, and tried to sneak away,” Ondolemar said. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, placing her hand on his, still on her knee. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you, Ondolemar. Or use you. I…I really did consider you a dear friend. And I couldn’t trust anyone else.”

“But you trusted me,” he said, looking over at her. He felt a tightness in his chest.

“Of course I did,” she said, meeting his eyes now. “And considering I’m not dead or being beaten to death…at least at the moment…I suppose I was right to.”

“I wasn’t beating you to death,” Ondolemar said, disgruntled. She gave a small smile.

“No,” she agreed. “But the others would have.” She contemplated him for a moment, her expression curious. “Why did you heal me?” He shifted uncomfortably.

“I didn’t want you to die,” he muttered, looking away from her. She sniffled again. “Why did you kill the guards?” he asked, wanting very much to change the subject.

“I was trying to sneak by,” Arylia said. “It was snowing too hard, and I didn’t see a loose rock; it attracted their attention, and they all started fighting me at once.”

“They simply attacked you?” he asked, surprised. Normally the guards would’ve issued a warning, or perhaps taken her into custody. He hadn’t realized they were intended to kill.

“Yes,” Arylia said. “And I wasn’t going to go down without a fight, so forgive me, but I had no choice.” He sighed, looking back at her. Well, if they had been trying to kill her, he couldn’t very well expect her not to fight back. And being the Dragonborn, she did indeed need answers on the dragons. Though he still couldn’t understand why she thought the Thalmor would have them.

“Why didn’t you simply ask me, if you thought the Thalmor were involved?” Ondolemar asked. “If you trusted me so much.”

“As I said,” Arylia replied, “I was told the Thalmor wanted me dead. We…we were friends. I didn’t want to put you in that position.” She sighed. “So…you don’t know anything about the dragons? It isn’t the Thalmor bringing them back?” 

“No,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “In fact, the Ambassador is quite worried about them herself. I ah…believe we have a small lead, but that’s about it.”

“A lead?” Arylia asked, eager despite the thickness still in her voice. “Where? What is it?”

“That is confidential information,” he said at once, annoyed that she would even ask.

“You know, if you’re all so worried about the dragons, it would be a very good idea to let me in on whatever you’re discovering,” Arylia reminded him. “According to legend, I’m the only one that can properly deal with them, after all.” Ondolemar realized she was quite right.

“I will have to speak with the others,” he said. Right or not, it would jeopardize his very life if he were to disclose that information without permission. 

“So my life is forfeit anyway?” Arylia asked numbly, staring at the floor.

“No,” Ondolemar said. “You are the Dragonborn. Whether they like it or not, we do need your assistance if we all do not want to perish by the dragons.”

“And you think they will listen to you?” Arylia asked.

“The Ambassador is desperate to learn of the dragons,” Ondolemar said. “Few know just how rattled she really is about them. She will be grateful to know there may be a way to stop them.” They both sat in silence for a moment.

“Where am I?” Arylia finally asked.

“Justiciar training dungeon,” Ondolemar informed her. “Just south of the Embassy. Rarely used anymore.”

“And…why am I here?” Arylia questioned.

“Because I saw fit to punish you for your actions,” Ondolemar said, his temper flaring up again. “You killed four soldiers, Arylia, and whatever your intentions were, you broke into the Embassy.”

“I did not intend to use you,” Arylia said softly, hearing the other unspoken accusation. “I hope you know that.” Ondolemar looked over at her.

“I believe you,” he admitted quietly. He reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers. She looked surprised, but pleased all the same. “I do wish you’d come to me, though.”

“Now…so do I,” Arylia agreed. “I should have known you would not have me killed. I should never have listened to her.”

“Her?” Ondolemar asked quickly. Arylia flushed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “She was obviously wrong. And also fairly uncaring,” she added with a snort. “Sending me in here alone.”

“You acted alone, then?” Ondolemar confirmed. Arylia nodded – there was no need to get Malborn in trouble.

“Yes,” she said.

“I must say, I don’t think very much of this ‘friend’ of yours,” Ondolemar snorted. “Wrongfully accusing the Thalmor of bringing the dragons back, and then sending you in to find out about it – all alone. You were nearly killed.”

“You act as though she’s the only one to put me in danger for petty things,” Arylia said dryly. “At least this was for the dragons. You already know of all the ‘favors’ I’m asked to do. Why, Jarl Igmund himself saw fit to send me into a massive Forsworn camp, just to retrieve his father’s shield, because he was too cowardly to do it.”

“I remember,” Ondolemar frowned. He recalled the day she had returned, carrying the man’s shield and covered in blood. He had shuddered to think how much of it was her own.

“It still doesn’t matter,” Arylia sighed, and Ondolemar tensed up as she scooted closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder. He quickly relaxed into the feeling, however, and nearly without thinking about it brought his arm up to her shoulder. She hissed and flinched away, and then he remembered – the lash marks.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. And he was. She’d deserved the punishment, it was true, but he still felt badly that it still hurt her.

“It’s alright,” she muttered, shifting her shoulders and grimacing. “I certainly understand why. But you must understand…it was the only thing I knew to do at the time.”

“You…ah…you’re sure you weren’t simply trying to befriend me to get closer to the Thalmor?” Ondolemar asked, his insecurity painful. But he had to know.

She turned to him then, offering a smile; the most genuine he’d seen all night.

“Honestly, I have no quarrel with the Thalmor,” she assured him. “Particularly since you’re not trying to destroy the world with the dragons I am supposed to defeat. And besides,” she said softly, tentatively reaching up to touch his face. He let her. “I knew you long before I knew I was Dragonborn. You…you’ve always been my friend, Ondolemar.”

He stared at her for a moment, her deep red eyes ringed with puffiness from her tears, most of her war paint washed off. She was so sincere; there was no way he could not believe her. And truly…she was so beautiful…

He leaned toward her, kissing her firmly, his free hand coming up to the back of her head as though to hold her closer to him. Her lips were warm, her mouth positively hot; it only served to remind him of being buried inside of her not that long ago. He felt a sudden wave of remorse, sadness, protectiveness – how strange she made him feel! He pulled away from her lips, pulling her head to him and resting it against his shoulder, simply holding her for a moment.

“Shall I heal you?” Ondolemar murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver. He smirked, realizing her ears were likely as sensitive as his own.

“No,” Arylia replied, speaking into his robes. “Leave them. I…want to remember.” He shook his head in confusion.

“Remember what?” he asked.

“Th-this,” Arylia said shakily, burrowing her face further into his shoulder. “I…I’m sorry. I know it was to get me to talk. But…” He laughed softly, stroking her hair.

“But you enjoyed it, a little bit,” he said. “Well, you’re hardly the first.”

“It would’ve been more enjoyable if you hadn’t been so angry with me,” Arylia confessed. “And for what it’s worth…I’m sorry. I…oh, by Azura,” she said, clearly annoyed, pulling back from him. She looked somehow shy at the moment, but determined. “Ondolemar, I’ve wanted you for…a long time. And when…when I felt you…I just…I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop it.” He couldn’t help a chuckle of amazement at the confession. He tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear, looking at her.

“I understand,” he admitted. “Though I must say, I’ve never had a victim confess _after_ release,” he added wryly.

“I felt guilty,” Arylia explained. “I didn’t…I didn’t want you to be angry with me anymore. I couldn’t stand it, not when…not when I just wanted to be near you.” He heard the loneliness in her voice and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I suppose all can be forgiven,” he said. “Particularly as you didn’t truly mean any harm.”

“I am sorry about the guards,” she said. “Truly. Oh, I do hate killing like that.”

“I’m surprised they attempted to kill you,” Ondolemar admitted. “Typically, our guards will attempt to detain before they kill.”

“Well, the sword flying at my gut didn’t mention anything about ‘being detained’,” Arylia said, moving her hand to the spot she’d been stabbed. Ondolemar moved his on top of it. “Thank you. For saving my life.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured. He wanted to kiss her again.

“Where is my armor?” she asked suddenly. “And my weapons.”

“Upstairs,” he said. “Your armor was quite damaged, though.”

“I assumed as much,” she sighed. “But I can’t go anywhere in this.”

“Go?” he asked. “Where are you going?” She paused.

“Oh,” she said quietly, looking down at the bed. “I…suppose I’m your prisoner, aren’t I?” He wasn’t sure how to answer.

Technically, yes, she was. The idea of leaving her here alone all night, though…no. He couldn’t do that.

But he also didn’t want her to go anywhere.

“You…you are free,” he told her. “I will not hold you prisoner. But it is late, and you are weary. Where will you go?”

“I have a house in Solitude,” she said. “You said we’re not that far from the Embassy, right? It should only be a few hours’ walk.”

“You intend to leave here,” he asked incredulously, “after everything that’s happened this evening, and walk, by yourself, all the way to Solitude? You are mad.”

“Then perhaps I shall make my way back to the Embassy and ask the Ambassador if she has a spare bed for me?” Arylia said impatiently. “Forgive me, but I’ve no wish to remain here alone tonight, and I don’t know where else to go.”

“Then at least let me accompany you,” Ondolemar said. “I will give you your armor and your weapons, but it is late and you are tired, so allow me to come with you.”

“Why?” Arylia asked after a pause. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because, Auri-El help me, I care about you,” Ondolemar snapped, getting to his feet. “I did not save your life just to have you killed by a bear when you set foot out of here, and you are in no shape to fight off anything. Now come on.” She simply stared at him in surprise for a moment.

“Ondolemar,” she murmured finally, standing up and coming over to him. “I care for you as well. Just…just so you know.” He smiled at that, genuinely pleased.

“Let’s get going,” he said, taking her hand once more. He knew they could talk about everything else on the way…and maybe, he thought, she’d even let him stay when they arrived.


End file.
